


On My Way to Believing

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Veela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-13
Updated: 2011-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A relationship with a Veela is not always a charmed life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On My Way to Believing

**Author's Note:**

> All is disclaimed | Not epilogue compliant. Unbeta'ed and un-britpicked. Title from a song called 'The Only Exception' by Paramore.

Harry stepped out of the Floo, not even looking down at his own feet to ensure that they were placing themselves in the proper place. It had taken months of careful practice to get to this point, where he didn't flail wildly like a doused Kneazle as he came out of the fireplace.

Before the green glow of the Floo died down completely and left him in darkness, he lit the candles and braziers with a flick of his wand. The floor in the kitchen was swept clean as usual, and the minimum amount of dust on the counters and shelves attested to the fact that while Kreacher was happily reinstated back in the Manor, he still kept up his duties here at Grimmauld Place.

Harry shrugged off his robes. He tried to send the day's worries with them, imagining a great load sliding down his back and sinking into the floor. They were weighty concerns: a case in Brixton of a little girl who had been taken to Brazil by her mother. The father was beside himself, and Harry couldn't assuage his fears about his estranged wife's mental health. There was another case with maimed unicorns, and a foal had been killed by poachers. Harry had assigned Dean and Ron on an undercover operation, but there were no strong leads so far.

Heavy worries, indeed.

He pulled out one of the chairs and sat at the rustic dining table, painted a soothing shade of olive-green. Unlacing his boots, he cancelled the constant cushioning charm as soon as he tugged them off. He stared at his feet, still encased in a pair of thick black socks. The left one of the pair had a hole which allowed his second toe to poke through, but he wasn't concentrating on any possible darning right now. His thoughts were jumbled together, bits of information falling through his mental eye: going through the legal proceedings to retrieve the child, while at the same time investigating if the mother did indeed have grounds to flee from her ex-husband back to her own country, as she claimed; pictures of the injured and murdered unicorns, most of which caused Harry's stomach to clench in consternation.

The Floo chimed; it was a surprisingly pretty sound but quite aloof, like icy bells. Harry rested his forearms on the tops of his thighs, continued to stare at the floor between his feet, and didn't answer. The chime sounded again, and while it was the same pitch and volume, there was something demanding about the tone. Harry pressed his lips together, but felt his nostrils flare in annoyance.

The chime ceased. There seemed to be a measured pause, and then Harry felt an insistent weight in his mind.

Rearing back mentally, like a frantic horse, he shoved at the unwanted presence. He _hated_ the mental bond, and he disliked when it was used like this. He just needed some bloody time alone, was that too much to ask?

The Floo's chime rang through the quiet kitchen once more, and Harry got up to answer it. He pulled a short wooden bench where it was pushed up against the wall near the fireplace, sat on it and folded his arms across his chest.

"Yes," he said shortly, and at the sound of his voice, the flames resolved themselves into the narrow, sharp lines of Draco Malfoy's face.

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment, his light eyes taking in every detail, starting from the mess of Harry's hair and the rigid line of his shoulders. Harry sat there and withstood his inspection, knowing that Malfoy would simply ignore any attempt at conversation until he was satisfied.

One eyebrow twitched when he got to Harry's feet and noticed the hole in his sock. Malfoy stared at it, and then shifted his gaze up to Harry's face.

"I'm sure there are articles of underwear here in the Manor which have the proper openings in the right places," Malfoy said, his voice deep and controlled. Harry heard the muted song of a frustrated Veela riding under his words and pulled away, mentally, from the allure.

"These are my socks," Harry said, his own tone bland. "I like them."

"If anyone sees them in such a state, they would presume that I am not taking care of you."

"They won't see them." Harry knew he was deliberately baiting Malfoy, and couldn't seem to stop himself. Malfoy glared and Harry tilted his head, affecting a nonchalant attitude. "And even if they do see them, why should they care?"

"They'll care," Malfoy hissed at him, and actually bared his teeth for a moment before folding his thin lips back over them. He took a few harsh breaths before speaking again. "This would be just the opportunity they were waiting on."

" _They_?" Harry raised both eyebrows. "A bit paranoid, aren't we?"

Malfoy muttered, "If a Veela can't care for his mate--," and then broke off so abruptly that the edge of his voice sounded desperately jagged. His gaze unfocused for a few beats and then sharpened again. In a smoother voice, he said, "Have I grounds to be paranoid, Potter? I daresay I do. It _hurts_ , you see, and only _you_ can make it stop."

Harry swallowed, hard. Malfoy was using all his Veela charm, and it fell upon him like a heavy blanket, smothering every pore and filling it with sheer lust. Harry shook his head, throwing off the enticement, and it flowed away from him like a predator disappointed with the lack of prey.

"You should come home." Malfoy was obviously aiming for a gentle, coaxing voice, but it came out as wheedling, demanding. Harry held the words _your bloody Manor is not my home_ behind his teeth, and shook his head once more.

"Not right now."

Malfoy's eyes widened a bit at Harry's curt refusal of what was no less than an absolute demand from him, but he went back to appearing bored and above the whole thing in a split-second. Harry would have missed it if he hadn't been so attuned to him by now.

"You know what'll happen to me without physical contact," Malfoy told him, flatly.

"You'll live for _one day_ , won't you?!" Harry was finally at the end of his rope, getting to his feet and clenching his fists. "Just...I'll be there later on, can't I get some space?"

Malfoy sneered at him then, his eyes sparking with disgust and rage. His lips twisted into what looked like a sardonic smile, but Harry knew a sneer when he saw one. However, Malfoy sounded completely conversational when he said, "Some... _space_. Of course."

The flames flashed angry green and subsided before Harry could formulate an answer. He resisted the urge to tear off the bleedin' socks and hurl them into the still-crackling fire.

+

Harry was on his third round of a dubious-appearing concoction that Seamus dubbed 'The Off-Putter'. One hand was knuckled at his jaw, the other clutching the tall glass of foamy orange beverage as if he feared that someone would dive across the counter and snatch it from him. The Off-Putter wasn't so bad; a bit sweet going down, Harry could have well done without that part, but all in all, it could be worse. He didn't move when Ginny sat on the bar-stool beside him and plucked his glasses from his face with the familiar ease. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her thumb the hem of her shirt over the smudged lenses. She slid the slim frames back over his face and he nodded a rather grim thanks.

Ginny nodded at Seamus as he breezed past, and her own drink appeared. The shade was just a tone less terrific than Harry's, and when Ginny took a judicious sip, she nodded in approval.

She cleared her throat and asked, "How's it been? With him, I mean?" Harry, who appreciated directness from his fellow Aurors but not so much from ex-lovers (which made this all so very complicated, for Ginny was _both_ ), shrugged listlessly. "So he's been a right berk, as usual?"

"He probably popped out of his mum a fully-certified berk," Harry said. "Been a bit of a relief that he hasn't changed in _that_ regard, I must say. I do well with familiarity."

Ginny sighed and raised an arm to slip around his shoulders, but Harry leaned away from her, nearly falling off his perch in the process. "Sorry, Gin. He'll smell you on me, and go on a rant for ages about Weasley-scent."

"Go on with you," Ginny said, half-amused, half-disbelieving. When Harry wrinkled his nose, she grabbed him by the elbow, pulled him back and leaned against him, the side of her cheek against his shoulder. Her hair smelled like the peach shampoo she liked, and some wisps of it tickled Harry's neck.

"There," she said, defiantly. Harry smiled. "Let him go on about Weasley-scent. We're still your family, and no matter what he does or what he's become, he _can't change that_."

Harry was fairly drunk, but not so far gone as to feel a little ball of warmth in the middle of his chest when Ginny declared him family. Even though they hadn't been a couple when he'd taken on with Malfoy, it had been still tricky for a while between them. As a matter of fact, they hadn't spoken directly to each other for a few weeks after Draco had publicly claimed Harry Potter as his mate, but now they were good friends again, _best_ friends and Harry was happy with that.

"Thanks, Auror Weasley," he murmured and downed the last of his Off-Putter.

"No worries, Auror Potter," she answered, her head still a comforting weight against his shoulder. "You know...I'd say he feels deeply for you." At Harry's snort, she hurried on: "No, listen: Malfoy's never done anything by half, has he? Especially with that Veela heritage kicking in."

Harry tilted his head to one side, considering.

+

Malfoy had approached him in the middle of the Ministry's atrium, making that soft croon that no-one else seemed to hear, but was as loud as an orchestra to Harry. Loud, and probably the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. Harry'd stood there by the gently bubbling fountain, waiting his turn to Floo home; watching Malfoy walk towards him, his eyes had felt wide in his head, wide as dinner plates. Malfoy had stepped carefully around the enthralled crowd, in the manner someone would use if they were trying to catch a frightened kitten. The hem of his dark robes fluttered over shiny black boots. His hair, wore long in a way Harry thought he'd never find so attractive, seemed to glow in late evening sunlight which was reproduced by the Atrium's roof.

All his attention was locked onto Harry, like one of those Muggle laser-guided missiles; Harry was just as devastated, but only in the best way ever. It had felt completely natural to grasp Malfoy's hand when it was offered to him. Malfoy's hand was warm; his palm was sweaty. Harry barely heard the murmurs that rose around them as Malfoy pulled him close, their lips parting in expectant, excited unison. It was absolutely insane; he had barely exchanged five words with Malfoy after the trials, and now here they were about to _snog_ in the middle of the Ministry.

"Auror Potter!" someone said sharply from their left; those scandalized tones belonged to Kingsley's aide, a phrase Harry heard nearly every week. Harry noticed the eerie beauty that was Malfoy's face mutate to something just as lovely, but twice as scary. Maiming was about to occur, and quite a lot of it. Harry understood that a Claim was being staked, a Mate was willing (very, _unspeakably_ willing), and if this was going to be interrupted, then blood would be on the floor.

Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy's shaking hand, and spoke up: "I'm fine, Mrs. Nooks." He heard his own voice, softly-pitched and yet strong enough to carry. He felt as if he had stepped out of his own body. Was that really how he sounded? Calm and in control, as if he knew exactly what was going on and what he'd do about it? When he glanced at Malfoy, there was a knowing expression wrapped around those familiar features.

"I'm fine," Harry had repeated, nodding until the doubting line between Mrs. Nooks's nonexistent eyebrows had disappeared, and everyone else seemed less concerned. "It will be all right."

For the next few months, it _was_ all right. It had been a long time since Harry had been _needed_ so completely, and when Malfoy so much as _breathed_ on him, Harry felt as if he'd fly apart with how perfect it felt. He sometimes wondered if it was just Malfoy's particular brand of allure...and he wondered if Malfoy thought about that as well.

It had begun to grate, at some point. He...didn't hate it, not when Malfoy's life depended on touching Harry and being touched _by_ Harry to survive, but the responsibility of it begun to chafe. He recognized the resignation growing inside him like a dark tree, and hated it even as he fed it, and watered it. Malfoy, a world-class berk outside of the bed but no fool, probably saw that dark tree flourishing in Harry's impatience, in his need to just be alone sometimes. He responded with classic Malfoy contrariness, juxtaposed confusingly with the nature of a Veela to make their Mate happy.

Drove Harry up the wall, didn't it? All the little things, Malfoy sneering at him one moment and smothering him greedily the next. Better men than Harry would have probably exploded by now.

 _But you're Potter,_ he could almost hear Malfoy's voice as he paid for the Off-Putters and took a small vial from the pouch that all Aurors wore on their belts; the voice seemed coldly clear as Harry sipped at it, and then stepped out of Seamus's pub into an unseasonably warm night and a clearer head. _You're meant to be best of us all. Why else would I stand for you to be my mate?_

 _I'm just me,_ Harry thought, concentrating on the cottage he lived in while at the Manor. It was a sweet little thing, as far away from the main house as could be managed. Its incongruous thatched roof and sturdy brick walls were hidden from the front carriageway by the threatening bulk of the Manor itself, and Harry had been deeply touched when Malfoy had given a set of keys for the building. Even though his parents resided on an almost-permanent basis in Span, Malfoy maintained his residence in the main building, managing the vast estates which were still held in the family's name.

 _I'm just me,_ he though as he spun on his heel. _Sometimes, no matter what they think, it's not really good enough._

+

When Harry Apparated into the cosy space which was a bedroom and a sitting room divided only by a tall screen, he caught Malfoy with a great handful of socks, stuffing some of them into the top drawer of Harry's dresser. As Harry stared at him, Malfoy dropped the socks and, absurdly, toed the pile underneath the dresser with guilty grace.

"Turned into a house-elf, then?" Harry asked, mildly and the high points of Malfoy's cheeks flushed a hectic red.

"You find it funny, don't you?" Malfoy said, "but this is what I'm forced to if you won't let me take care of you."

Harry shook his head and held out his hand, expecting Malfoy to come forward and take it, relishing the pleasure of their touch. Malfoy stared at his fingers for so long that Harry wondered if there was some sort of nasty smear or something, then he shook his head.

Harry felt his eyebrows shoot up to an almost impossible height, hand falling to his side. "Don't take on so, you'll make yourself sick if we don't touch soon."

"I've decided to wean myself from you," Malfoy told him, and despite the rigid hold he maintained on his facial expression, an anxious kind of triumph seeped out through his voice; Harry was forcibly reminded of that night in the Astronomy Tower. "Decided it just now, in fact. You're obviously too weak to handle this, and I'd be able survive if I let you go bit by bit."

"Tempting," Harry said, warningly. "But don't push me, Malfoy." He paused, frowning. "And I'm _not_ too weak," he insisted, almost childishly, even though he wasn't too sure about that part.

" _You've_ already pushed _me_."

Harry stood near his neatly made bed and stared at Malfoy, who actually gave him a sad smile.

"It will be all right," he told Harry, and he was so bloody _noble_ that Harry just didn't comprehend it, Malfoy wouldn't know noble if it kicked him in the face. The part of him that was Veela might, though...or maybe this sort of quiet dignity could be attained. "It's all right, Harry, you mustn't worry."

He'd never called Harry by his first name before. Harry was stunned into speech. "I--"

"It's just a myth that Veela die if their Mates leave," Malfoy cut in, and took another step back, almost into that little old-fashioned table near the head of the bed, the one with the pitcher and basin. "So it's best if this ends now. You will leave."

Funny, how he used 'will', instead of 'should'. It seemed simultaneously arrogant and plaintive. Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, thinking. Malfoy watched him; he looked like a wary cat.

Harry said, "Oh. I...well, it's just that I thought I'd make a proper go of it, you see. I didn't have my heart in it...I mean, not fully, not..." Harry trailed off, and sighed. "I don't want to go, Draco." He tried a small smile on for size, and it fit rather well.

Draco blinked at him so rapidly that Harry thought his eyelashes would catch fire. A crowd of emotions jostled for dominance on his face, but the one which emerged victorious was exasperation. Draco threw his hands up in the air, as if entreating some supernatural force to look, _just look_ at this idiot right here.

"You're such a contrary fuck!" Draco shouted and then clenched his fists at his sides. "What the hell am I supposed to do, I damn well prepared myself to let you go, and here you are telling me you want to _stay_. Do you _know_ what you've put me through? You selfish little--"

"Don't start," Harry said, pointing at him with one authoritative index finger. When he pointed at suspects like that, they had a tendency to duck their heads and confess, but Draco just appeared more incensed. "Just don't. You're not the one who woke up one morning in bed with your childhood enemy. You had time before to think about it, get over this...this _relationship_ , but I didn't. It's just hit me now, the whole weight of it, so you'll forgive me if I had a bit of a time processing everything."

Draco snorted. "Forgive _you_ , and after all this time you're still so--" he broke off, and stared at Harry for a long, breathless moment. Harry thought he was fixed on the word _relationship_ and then rolled his eyes when Draco said, "Wait, I was your childhood enemy?"

"Yes," Harry said and shook his head at Draco's pleased visage. "Well, it's all levels of enmity, I suppose. Voldemort was my nemesis, but you had a top spot on my Deep Dislike list."

"You know, I've always thought I was just a minor annoyance to you," Draco mused. "Like a fly you might swat away when it's buzzing around your head."

Harry boggled at him. "Are you serious? 'Weasley is Our King'? The whole Dementor incident? You were anything _but_ minor."

Draco actually preened at that, and Harry couldn't help but laugh. He held out his hand again, palm up.

"I haven't been good to you," he said. "Not all the way. I'm sorry about that, and I'd like to try again. A better attempt, at least."

He hadn't even finished this simple but heartfelt speech, when Draco crossed the distance between them in just a few quick strides and cupped Harry's face in both hands, pressing hot kisses to his mouth. Harry stumbled back and grabbed onto Draco's waist to regain his balance, licking his way into Draco's mouth.

Draco murmured against Harry's mouth, unbelievable things such as _it's always, always been you_ , and Harry wondered if he knew what he was getting into, if he really understood what a Veela needed. He'd never had anyone to care for, really. He wasn't sure how to go about it.

Draco drew back. He looked down into Harry's face, his eyes heavy-lidded, lips damp and parted. He stared for a very long time, and then tugged at the mental bond between them, the one that was an important link between a Veela and their Mate. Tentatively, Harry allowed him in. It wasn't as intrusive or as forceful as Legilimency, and it didn't go so deep. Harry realised for the first time, that if he wasn't so rigid about it, if he just relaxed...it was actually kind of nice. Comforting, even.

After a few moments, Draco blinked slowly at him. "You do know you're good at what you do, don't you?"

Harry shrugged, not sure how to take such a direct compliment. Draco slid his hands down from Harry's face, down the sides of his neck (where his palms felt warm against Harry's skin) and onto the slope of his shoulders. He took a firm grip and gave Harry a solid shake.

"Get it into your head, then, you idiot: you're an insufferable goody-goody, and you're unreasonably lucky and mulishly determined. Luckily, these are fine odds for an Auror."

If anyone had told Harry a few years ago that one day, Draco Malfoy would put him at ease far more effectively than most of his friends, he would have checked if they were Confounded or something.

"I'll try to give you a bit more space," Draco told him, his grudging tone breaking through Harry's heavy musing. "I don't understand _why_ anyone would want space from their Veela, but rationality was never your strongest point."

"Leave off with the insults," Harry said, "and take me to bed, you berk."

+

Draco tried to literally take Harry to bed, as in _carry_ him; but Veela are only physically powerful when they perceive a threat to their mate, so, with an amused smirk, Harry stripped naked and lay back on his bed, knees drawn up and legs parted. Draco's gaze raked hard lines over his body as he pulled off his robes as well, reaching for the little tub of slick on a nearby shelf.

Draco was a bit too hasty in preparing him, and Harry flinched at how his fingers slid too quickly inside. Draco appeared contrite, but when Harry smiled at him, he smiled in return, his touch gentling. Draco slid his fingers out and wrapped them around his cock, rubbing the warm head of it against Harry's hole.

"Come on," Harry urged in a low moan, arching his back a little as Draco's thick prick made its way deep inside him. "Come on, fuck, _come on_."

"Harry," Draco murmured and rocked in and out, slow and sweet. He released Harry's thigh and lay flat atop him, chest to chest. Harry put his arms around Draco's neck, feeling the quick beat of Draco's heart. He ran his hands up Draco's sides, and then down again to grip Draco's flexing bum. Harry moved one leg up so he could plant his foot firmly on the rumpled surface of the bed, and then used the leverage to roll them both over. Draco's prick slipped out of him, and Harry shuffled up on his knees, grabbing the thick prick at its base and sitting back down on it.

Draco reached for him, pulling him back down to hold him close again; Harry tried to pull away; how would he be able to move properly, to get them both off? However, Draco simply held on to him, hips moving in slow, almost delicate circles as they kissed. Harry's cock, trapped between them, leaked onto Draco's stomach.

"Wait, let me move." Harry tried to sit up. Draco's cock was so hot and insistently thick inside him, and he was going to explode if he didn't come soon, but Draco insisted on hugging him for a few moments more. "Draco, come on, now."

"All right."

Harry grinned down at him as he was allowed to sit back up, but Draco's expression was solemn. Harry braced his hands against the bed, on either side of Draco's head, and then rode him...slow and steady, smooth rolling movements of his hips.

Draco gasped out, "H-Harry, I'm--" and grabbed onto to the tops of Harry's thighs, fingernails clenching half-circles into his flesh. Harry hurriedly grabbed his own cock, squeezing to stave off his own orgasm. Their breathing was loud and laboured, and Harry groaned as Draco's softened cock slid out of him, spent come seeping down the backs of his thighs.

Harry barely gave his own cock a few trembling tugs, before he was shoved onto his back again and Draco settled between his legs and sucked down his cock. Draco slid a finger back into Harry's sensitive hole and swallowed down his come as Harry cried out and bucked.

Harry muttered, as he was gathered up into a boneless heap and tucked beneath the covers and under Draco's arm, "Remember, g'me some space."

There was a long, reluctant pause and then Draco's tight hold loosened.

"Thanks," Harry said, and went to sleep in his Veela's arms.

 _fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for centopiedi's winning bid in help_pakistan. I hope centopiedi forgives me for it being so long overdue.


End file.
